


Project A

by ForbiddenInterests



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, BAMF Will Graham, Beverly Katz is the Best, Detective Will, Hannibal Loves Will, I don't hate Jack but I needed a villian for the end, Jack lovers may want to steer clear of here, M/M, Mob boss Hannibal, Note for later use, Possessive Hannibal, Protective Hannibal, Team Sassy Science, Will Graham Has Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5008294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForbiddenInterests/pseuds/ForbiddenInterests
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's life changes when he goes to an art gallery and meets the esteemed Dr. Hannibal Lecter, and subsequently insults the man painting. After an unforeseen sequence of events Will and Hannibal are forced into a tentative friendship. Soon, that tentative friendship blossoms into a dangerous relationship with both keeping life altering secrets from the other. Will their love make it? Or, will they die trying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Very Bad Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This story come out of nowhere. I first wrote the painting as Will's but then, switched it, and then the whole Mob business kind of just showed up.
> 
> It's a mess, but it's my design. 
> 
> Haha!
> 
> Anyways, go along and read if you'd like.

Tuesday Night

 

Will stares up at his own mind, or... rather a piece of art that's hanging on the white walls of the art gallery– a stark contrast to the piece above him, that Alana had forced him into going to. He's been staring at the piece for far longer than socially expectable (he can tell by the inquisitive looks he can feel on the back of his head), but Will can't find it in him to fixate away.

The piece is beautiful in a dark sense that most people would classify as crude. Will was not most people–most people didn't spend the better half of their day inside killers' minds and the other half trying to escape the nightmares of his own mind's making. So, as it was, Will saw the piece as beautiful and elegant, as the maker had seen it.

But the piece was so much more than a beautiful work of brushstrokes, it was–unknowingly- a beautiful portrait of Wills mind, heart, and soul.

The Teacup- as the artist had named it, was similar to a scene he had scene before while working on a case. Will wondered if the artist had drawn inspiration from that case. There were bodies of creatures all laid out on the forest floor, at first glance they seamed lifeless and dead, but on second, you saw the small placements of their limbs–all reaching, all searching, for the man in the middle. The creatures were laid out in a ring around the only human. A man staring up at the observer so as to see the whole story...His eyes told the story. One of his eyes a normal blue (Will shivered at how familiarity a blue it was) the other, his left side where one of the creatures had dug its claws into his head, was a dark maroon.

A man drenched in blood, surrounded by monsters, and becoming one himself. It was Will Graham in a nutshell. It was so perfect, that Will felt tempted to go bankrupt and buy the damn thing. Will wished he could snap a quick photo of it to keep forever.

"It's magnificent, isn't it?" A voice asked from Will's right, startling him from his thoughts of theft.

Will turned his head slightly. A plump man in a sweater and overcoat stood next to him. His hair reminded Will of his own. He was, unknowingly underdressed- more than likely had overdressed too many times, and when told so, had tried to tone it down, but only came off as disrespectful. Will felt pity for the man, he was obviously trying to hard to get someone's attention.

"It is." Will commented back. Normally, Will would of left it at that and walked away, but the piece was the only thing keeping him (ironically) sand, plus Alana had told him to try mingling.

"The aggregate of colors used is just... Breathtaking." The man was trying to impress Will- and by proxy, whoever it was this man had an obsession over. His behavior had been upgraded to obsession.

Will acknowledged the sentiment with a tip of his head. "It is diverse." Though, not the focal point that took Will's breath away. "The story is beautiful, as well." Will said after a beat, taking a note from Beverly's Guide to Human Interaction: If he/she starts a conversation, keep it going by adding your own thoughts on whatever matter they said. Then, if that matter is done, bring up your own.

The man's eyes swept over him and Will didn't need to look in his eyes to see that he was surprised. "Yes..." The man said after a pause, he was obviously put off by Will's comment. "The–uh, story..." He stuttered out, body facing more towards the piece now, as he tried to, stealthily, get the message from the piece. "The story of the boy lost alone in the woods, and then taken prisoner as a sacrifice by the monsters."

The sacrifice part was nearly on the mark, but it was not the monsters that sacrificed him...they just let him in. The teacher was the one that had sacrificed him.

"A sacrifice of the innocent." Will replied. He wasn't agreeing, nor disagreeing with the man's comment. Will cringed inside at having to defile such a beautiful piece, but Will knew if he told the man what he really saw, he would be opening himself up to scrutiny. He did not need that right now.

Jack should be proud, Will thought bitterly.

"Yes," The man nodded, confidence regaining itself. "The poor soul that wondered into their trap."

Will hummed along, all the while thinking the poor soul that stumbled into his trap.

"This piece was made by a friend of mine–Dr. Hannibal Lecter." The man said happily, with a mixture of smugness laced in the air.

The obsession, Will's mind put the puzzle pieces together.

"He is amazing." The man's voice filled with awe and longing.

"He is a master at his work." Will let his own voice slip out something slightly akin to awe. "How long have you known him?"

Oh, God! Beverly has him trained.

The man flushed slightly. "For awhile, now."

No specific time range. Nothing specific actua–

"What um, what brings you here?" The man obviously wanted to deflect the conversation to somewhere safer.

"My friend Alana, forced me into this." He admitted.

"Oh, well it seems like she was right to push you to come."

"This was a fairly good reason to come. I don't plan on holding a grudge against her anymore." Will smiled, then- because they hadn't already, forced his hand out. "Will." Was all he offered.

The handshake was returned by sweaty hands, and a name was offered as well: Franklynn.

"He's made other pieces, they're down that hall." Franklynn pointed to their left where the land dipped into another room.

"I'm probably going to go home now–"

"Oh! Dr. Lecter!" Franklynn yelled out, waving his hands around in the air, as if his loud announcement wasn't enough.

Will turned, gulped and thought: Franklynn has good taste.

The man, grudgingly (though he hid it well) walking towards them was all elegance wrapped up in an attractive box. The man's high cheekbones made Will want to run his fingers along them just to see if they'd break. His eyes were an odd shade of brown, and on closer inspection, Will could tell were contact lenses. His hair was a dark shade of brown and swept back. Although, throughout the night a few strands had fallen on his forehead, accenting his face nicely.

This man–this Adonis, was the man that had painted his soul and put it on display, unbeknownst to him.

"Hello Franklynn." Dr. Lecter greeted the man that had called him over–sparing a glance in Will's direction. "What, may I ask, are you doing here?"

"Oh...uh, I just wanted to see all the local artists in Baltimore."

Dr. Lecter sighed. "Are you sure, Franklynn? Or, did you just hear in passing that I was going to be showcasing some of my work and decided to 'drop by'?"

Franklynn looked particularly ashamed. "I–I–I..." He stuttered. "I just–I've seen some of your work in your office and thought maybe I should come and support you."

Dr. Lecter did not look impressed, staring at Franklynn with an annoyed glint in his eyes. "You know that we cannot be friends, Franklynn. As your physiatrists it would be inappropriate–on both our parts."

Will was growing increasingly awkward. The feeling much like how he felt when his brothers were berated each other right in front of him.

"I know," Franklynn complained. "You've told me a million times before."

"And yet, you still seem to have not listened. That, Franklynn...is very rude."

And like a switch being flipped, Franklynn's hopeless body language become rigid and stricken with fear. Will frowned at him, he was asking as if he had just been threatened. Will looked at Dr. Lecter out of the corner of his eye and saw the pleased smile tipping the corners of his lips. Will feels like he missed something.

Will knows he missed something.

"I'm sorry." Franklynn feebly replies, eyes darting to the floor.

"Of course you are." Dr. Lecter smirks, then turns his body more towards Will and asks. "Are you Franklynn's friend?"

"Newly acquainted." Will smiles, politely, not looking the man in his eyes–too afraid of what he will find, instead focusing on his jawline.

Dr. Lecter smiles while humming.

"Yeah, me and Will were just discussing your piece of art." Franklynn says excitedly, and Will had to hold back a wince because he knows the question Dr. Lecter will ask and he knows the horrendous answer he will have to give, all because Franklynn is still here.

"And what did you discuss?" Dr. Lecter asks, eyes lingering on Will for a moment. He obviously wishes Will to answer, used to Franklynn's nonsense. He wants a new voice.

"We were talking about the sad story you painted." Franklynn says, undoubtedly, not picking up on Dr. Lecters moods like Will can.

Like Will can with everyone–specifically killers.

"Oh?" Dr. Lecter raises an eyebrow. "And what sad story did I paint?"

Will knows he didn't add 'Franklynn' after that sentence on purpose. It's his invite.

Will lets his eyes trail back to the painting–that doesn't even do it justice, the relic in waiting before steeling himself for the disrespecting answer he will have to give.

"The poor boy lost in the woods," He feels the sigh more than hears it. "All alone and found by the monsters lurking in the trees, taken prisoner," Will wants to scream at himself and then scream at Dr. Lecter how sorry he is for making a charade out of his own portrait. "And sacrificed."

There's a ring of silence before Dr. Lecter comments on his(Franklynn's)thoughts. "The picture is always open to one's own interpretation."

When Will looks over at the doctor, he can see the disappointment and blind rage running off him in waves. His back is stiffened, his lips pursed, and his fingers are twitching–like he's silently willing a knife into his hands.

Will wonders what would happen if he was pushed farther. Would he clench his fists fully, or just give him a completely cold look, or worse, actually find a knife and put those twitching hands to good use. But, then again, it would be a shame to insult this piece again.

Will's curiousity wins out.

Will pulls his eyebrows together, and dares to lift his eyes to Dr. Lecter's cheekbones and asks in a befuddled manner: "What other interpretation could there be?"

The twitching fingers still, and his eyes narrow–it's barely noticeable, and you wouldn't see it unless you were looking for it...And Will most definitely was. The atmosphere's change was so tangible Will felt like he couldn't move. Like he was being suffocated. Will wouldn't put it past the Doctor to be able to do that.

Dr. Lecter breathes in, gives Will a clipped smile before saying. "Everyone sees things a little differently then their companions. It is naive to think otherwise."

And doesn't Will know it? He's been working with Jack Crawford for years. Jack Crawford who only sees in black in white. Will finds it slightly amusing to be able to trick this man, who he knows is rarely ever tricked. Will is in no way naive. He sees all colors, he sees all sides, he understands all reasoning.

Will just shrugs dismissively, irking the doctor even more. "I guess so," is all he says.

Dr. Lecter's hum is strained and sounds nothing like the sweet melody he had heard earlier.

"Franklynn, do you feel the same?" Dr. Lecter asks Franklynn, as Will focuses his attention on finding out what time it is.

10:47

He needs to leave. Now.

"I have to go." Will says rather bluntly, interrupting the conversation the other two were having, Will sees the slight beginnings of a snarl on Dr. Lecter's face. It's not as scary as its supposed to be. Will can imagine that snarl in a completely different situation–STOP. "I promised my friend I would meet her at the doors five minutes ago."

Franklynn smiles understandingly. "It was nice meeting you Will. Um, would you know, mind if I–"

"No, I wouldn't mind." Will hands his phone over and let's him type his number in. Will doesn't know if he'll ever actually use it.

Before Franklynn can give it back, Dr. Lecter steals it and types his own in. "It's been a pleasure seeing your views on my work, Mr....?"

Will smiles. "I don't like giving out my last name. It's confusing and most people can't pronounce it." He bypasses that part. "And thank you for letting me share my views on such a unique piece." He at least deserves a praise at least.

"Goodbye." He says before heading towards the entrance, but not before he sees the slight twitch of Dr. Lecter's eyes.

Will smiles.

 

Wednesday Morning

 

Will's eyes open at the sound of his phone going off. It's 7:03am and Will is lying in bed, but not asleep. So, the persistent ringing doesn't make him groan, and blurry eye sight doesn't make him grope around for a bit. He is perfectly awake, and perfectly alert to the sound.

Reaching his hand out, he reads the text and a smile pulls at the corner of his lips.

 

From: KittyKatz

Heads up, Cracker. It's a bloody one.

 

It's a warning more than anything. A warning that Jack's going to call him in–that he'd be treated to a feast for his mind. The nickname is her way of cushioning the blow. Her dry sense of humor is just Beverly Katz's humor.

Will sighs, laying his head back on his pillow. Jack was sometimes too much, and Will really didn't feel like going in today, not after the nightmare he'd had last night. He couldn't remember it vibrantly, there were a few flashes of a forest, but all Will knows is that his body had siezed up in fear, and he hadn't moved since then.

 

To: KittyKatz

How bloody?

 

If he's going to see inside the mind of a killer, he should at least prepare himself for what was ahead.

 

From: KittyKatz

Brian threw up. On my shoes.

 

That means it's bad. Jimmy had been known for having the weakest stomach out of the group, occasionally throwing up, but Brian had never once thrown up. He was slightly disappointed that he missed it.

His phone rang again and he knew it wasn't Beverly.

"Hello, Jack." He greeted the man on the other end of the line.

"I'm sure you've already been warned by Katz." Jack bypassed the greeting, like he usually did.

Will hummed a yes.

"Look–I can't explain the scene to you, it's too... –Who do you want to pick you up?" He was frantic and? Scared? Jack hardly ever got scared.

"I'll drive myself, Jack. I do know how to drive."

"Just get here, Will."

The conversation was automatically cut off, and Jack's gruff voice replaced with static. Will sighed.

\-----

39 minutes later, Will was left banging his head against his car door.

I should of taken Jack up on the offer of a ride.

His truck had decided that today, out of all days, was a good day to break down. And leave Will stranded in the middle of the long stretch of road between Wolf Trap and Baltimore. The dirt country road. There was no one for Will to hitch a ride from.

It was freezing outside and Will didn't feel particularly keen on getting out of his albeit stuffy, cozy truck. Will dug around in his pocket for his phone.

 

To: KittyKatz

Tell Jack I'd like to take his offer.

 

From: KittyKatz

Admitting defeat?

 

To: KittyKatz

Of my car, yes.

 

From: KittyKatz

Shot?

 

To: KittyKatz

Deadly so.

 

From: KittyKatz

I'll be comin' round the mountain.

 

To: KittKatz

You know, it never really specifies whether she makes it or not. Your answer is not very reassuring.

 

From: KittyKatz

Shut it Graham. Where exactly are you?

 

To: KittyKatz

Just follow the path to my house. You won't miss my truck stuck in the middle of the road.

 

From: KittyKatz

Like a damsel in distress.

 

To: KittyKatz

Are you Mulan, then?

 

From: KittyKatz

Since I was three, Rapunzel.

 

To: KittyKatz

Why am I Rapunzel?

 

From: KittyKatz

Have you seen your hair lately?

 

To: KittyKatz

I own a mirror, Beverly.


	2. The Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gunshot breaks the(glass)ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To begin. My grammar and punctuation more than likely suck right now. So, fair warning: its a mess. I might go back in and revise some more, but at the moment I'm not really feeling up to it. So, please no harsh words on how horrible it is (that does not help), I already know I'm not the best. However, constructive criticism is welcomed. 
> 
> I KNOW! It's short. But, at least it's something, right? There really wasn't much else I could think to put in this. 
> 
> Please tell me if my characterization is out of wack, nearly there, or okay. 
> 
> Love you, all!

Will looked around at the fish flowing between his legs. His existence was not important to them. They didn't see him as the predator he was, just another obstacle to get past on their journey. 

It was quiet here in Wills mind, a paused moment that just kept replaying. No monsters lurking in the shadows offering him blood soaked guidance. It was here that Will felt at home. 

He was the predator here. The Alpha. The Apex. He was in control here. The lure in the water waiting for someone to catch. Will had always been a patient predator. . 

He felt the pull on the line instantaneously. Will felt himself being pulled by it; whatever he had caught was strong. How it fell for Will's trap was unknown. Something this big should have seen the lie plain as day. 

Will jerked the line back, turning the handle, attempting to reel it in, but the more he pulled the more he was also being pulled down. The water surrounding him now reaching mid-thigh. It was as if his fishing line had gotten tangled with another's forcing them both to the water. 

Will hadn't caught a fish, he had caught another predator. One that had ado ensnared Will. 

They were both falling into the water blindly.

 

\-----

 

Tap, tap, tap.

Will blinked away the river and fish, coming back to reality. Stranded on the road in the freezing cold, inside his car. 

Will's eyes darted around his car, still too out of it to find the cause for his minds disturbance. Frowning Will tried to define what the sound had been. 

Tap, tap, tap.

Oh, Will though as he turned his head to the window he had previously been leaning on. There was a long, elegant, finger tapping on his window. Attached to that finger was a familiar man in a three piece suit. A single eyebrow was arched at Will in question. 

Pulling the car door open,–because his windows were not manual–Will inwardly winced at the cold air now freely roaming into his car. "Dr. Lecter?" Will asked. 

"Hello again Will." Dr. Lecter smiled at him–pleased. He wanted Will to remember him. "Is something wrong with your car?" 

"I think that much is obvious, Dr. Lecter." Will answered without really answering. "What are you doing here? Wolf Trap isn't that popular of a town." 

Dr. Lecter hummed his agreement. "Work related matters, of course. Not to insinuate that your town isn't agreeable. It is quaint in its own way."

"But, not up to your tastes." Will finished the sentence the man had not been planning on letting out. The small twitch of Lecter's eyebrow the only suggestion of interest in his correct assumption. 

Lecter tipped his head in confirmation. "I must admit, it is not somewhere I see myself 'settling down' in; as they say." 

Will couldn't deny that. Lecter was a man that screamed the rich lifestyle. He took his time with the finer things in life, studying them, and sculpting them to make them his. (Add possessive to the list Will was mentally making of his new companion.) Wolf Trap was not for finer things. It was for the quiet peace of lazy mornings, or for Will, the stretches of land to roam and here yourself think. Will didn't think Lecter would find that very entertaining.

"It's nice, for some people." Will frowned. "Dr. Lecter, is there a reason you pulled over to talk to me?"

Lecter gestured to his car. "I was going to offer my assistants to the person stuck on the same road as me. But, was then pleasantly surprised to find someone I knew." The smile Lecter offered Will sent a small trimmer down his back. It was sweet and beautifully crafted, but Will could see the smile underneath the fake. The sinister one. 

There was a monster lurking behind Lecter. 

"Thank you for the offer, Dr. Lecter." Will thanked the man slowly. "But, I already have a friend on her way here to pick me up." 

There was a slightly aggravated undertone in Lecters stance that came out after those words left Wills lips. If only Will could dare to look into his eyes and see the running emotions hidden by facade Lecter had so expertly sculpted. Will knew it would take his breath away. 

"I see." A pause. "Well then, I seem to have embarrassed myself. I shall be leaving you to wait for your friend." 

Lecter gave him a parting smile, feat turning to leave.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed by." Will knew it was bait, but Will couldn't help but feel the need to see where this headed–where Lecter wanted to take him. "It was a kind gesture, one not many people would probably have duplicated." 

"I'm sure someone would of done it." Lecter was turned back to Will, eyes focuses on him. "I can only assume your friend would have." 

"Okay, there's some people who would do it." Will agreed. "Beverly included, but there aren't many people who take this road." That reminded Will of something that had come up in their conversation. "How did you know I lived here? You refered to Wolf Trap as my town."

Lecter looked put off for a second–his facade dropping at the question, but not long enough for Will to read all the emotions swimming around. His answer came quickly. "Your license plate. Do you not trust me, Will?"

Lecter was staring down at him like Jack had done before. A mixture of need, suspicion, and slight anger. It was all too familiar and Will just wanted this topic to drop. "It's not easy to trust someone you barely know." 

"No it is not." Lecter amended. "Well, seeing as I am no use at the moment, I will be leaving you."

"I wouldn't want to keep your work waiting." 

Lecter chuckled. "I can keep them waiting as long as I like, Will. I am the boss." 

"Those pour souls." Will didn't realize he had said that out loud until he heard a rather amused reply from Lecter. "Indeed." 

Will stared at Lecter as he walked torward his car. "Goodbye Dr. Lecter."

"I must insist that you call me Hannibal, as it is, I call you by your first name." Lecter stopped part way there, turning to face Will once more.

"That's because I haven't given you a last name." Will said. 

Lecter nodded. "No, you have not..."

Will didn't take the bait this time. "Goodbye Hannibal." 

The name was odd on his tongue. Not unpleasantly so, but for some reason it felt like something had dropped without him knowing it. It was like the sirens during a tornado. Will knew the weight of the name held something significant. 

Hannibal smiled at Will. The small creature in front of him intrigued him only so, in the midst of their conversation Will had seen through his words and had been able to knock him off kilter even. It was a rare event, even so with the creature still breathing. Hannibal didn't know wether to be delighted, or concerned. 

"Very well, Will. I hope you will be using the number I gave you to your advantage." 

"Wouldn't dare not to." Will leaned back into his car, preparing to close off the passage of the chill in the air to his car's air. 

The door shut and Will leaned down to settle back into his seat when he saw someone walking up to Hannibal with a knife from the rear view mirror. Without thinking Will reach into his glovebox and pulled out his gun. The bullet shattered the glass to his car when his finger left the trigger, making impact with the mans shoulder. 

Hannibal jumped slightly at the sound of the gunshot, unprepared for the noise. Turning he watched as the man he had once called a colleague dropped to the floor, blood pulling out of his right shoulder, a knife clattering on the cement next to him. 

"Hannibal?" Will's voice made him turn towards the boy getting out of his car.  
"Are you okay?" 

Hannibal stared at him for a moment. His curly hair mused up, glasses slightly tilted, hands held tightly to a firearm. Their had been no hesitancy in his action. Hannibal was slightly more intrigued. 

"Alive." Was his reply, that earned him a brittle laugh. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hannibal smiled at him, and for the first time it was sincere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you reading. Your support helps me write more! And, as always suggestions are welcomed. (I can't remember if I had more to say.)
> 
> ~Class Dismissed*smiles*


	3. Killing Myself From My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will sees something disturbing when inside a killers mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, grammar and stuff is not the best. I'm sorry there isn't any Hannibal in this, but Archive has been messing up for me, so I though I might as well update with what I had. Don't worry tho, the next chapter will deffinitely have Hannibal all over it.
> 
> Thank you all, for all the love you've been giving me, it's like fuel to the fire of my writing. You are all so sweet!
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and by the way. I DON'T OWN HANNIBAL. I think that was obvious.

Will's eyes were closed, he had gained a headache in the past hour, and the lights in the lab room were too bright at the moment. He could hear his colleagues/friends working around him, and he could feel the pointed glances sent his way every few seconds, but he still couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. His mind hurt alongside his head.

"Alright," Beverly clearer her throat calling for the attention of the other three people in the room. When it was successfully gained she continued on. "The victims name is Tobias Budge, male, African American, late 30's, passed approximately six hours ago from cardiac arrest." She paused in her speech in favor of eyeing two out of the three people in room with her. "After suffering a non-fatal shot to the right shoulder." 

The room was quiet for a couple of, tense, seconds. 

"Okay," Jimmy Price broke the silence, ignoring Beverly's death stare. "With the cat already being out of the bag. Will, what the hell did you do to this guy?" He turned his body towards him, in an exasperated manner.

Will sighed, he had known this was coming. "I didn't do this to him." At least I hadn't planed on it, he thought.

"I said non-fatal, Jimmy." Beverly nearly hissed in his direction. 

"C'mon, he's got a point. Will freakin' shot this guy into cardiac arrest." Brian said moving his hands around, like that would help his cause. "That's some serious kickass shooting technique."

"I didn't shoot him into cardiac arrest as you put it. And, why do you keep forgetting the part where he had knife and was going to attack someone?" Will straightened up from where he had been slumped against the wall. 

Brian didn't seem to have a response for that. 

"Can we please get back to the body?" Beverly ordered in the form of a question. 

"Why?" Jimmy looked thoroughly baffled, and Will couldn't exactly blame him. He felt the same. "He died of cardiac arrest. It's very cut and dry. There's nothing more to it. His heart gave out, we can't test it to see if it was from a broken heart, or the pain from the gunshot hurt him so, that his heart gave out, or anything really." 

Beverly sighed. "I know–I know, but Jack wants us to check this one again. He's for sure something's up with it." 

"We should be checking the Rippers body, or... Bodies." Brian ran a hand through his hair.

Will furrowed his brow. It was Rippers work? "It was the Ripper that Jack called me in for?" 

"We told him not to," Jimmy said.

"But he thinks the Rippers angry," Brian supplied.

"And he knows you're the only one that could figure out why." Beverly finished.

They all three knew the weight of the Rippers murders on Will. It had caused Will to have an episode and threaten Jack that he would never come back if he had to 'look inside' again. They didn't think any less of him, but Will knew that if they knew the real reason he couldn't stand the Rippers cases they would never look at him the same. 

They thought they disturbed him, but in reality it was the exact opposite.

"That's why he didn't give any real information on the phone." He didn't want me to know, which leaves the question...

"He was right beside me when I sent the text." Beverly grimaced at him in a way that plainly said 'sorry, but you know him.'

"It's fine." Will waved her off. "I just don't understand why, if he was so focused on the Rippers case, why he's keeping us here."

"You think he's keeping something from us?" Brain looked at Will with a wary look in his eyes. 

Will tilted his head. "More than likely. Jack was never the most informative person." 

"Yeah," Beverly nodded. "But Jack hasn't ever risked our lives, so I still trust him." 

"I'm not saying I don't trust him with my life, Bev. I'm saying he could be hiding something from us. Everyone does that at least once in their life."

Beverly conceded to that fact. 

"When did we all become so serious?" Jimmy asked to no one in particular.

"When we decided examining bodies for a living was what we wanted to do." Brian answered. 

Will looked down at the still body laying on the metal slab in front of them. His eyes were closed, and his lips were hue of blue. There was discoloration along his hands and feet. It was a stark difference from the man he had seen about ready to gut Lecter–the man he had shot. There was no fire in his eyes anymore, no need, or want that Will had seen right before the man had passed out. 

Beverly kept reminding him it wasn't his fault, but at times it seemed that way. But Will didn't feel guilt. The man was going to attack someone he knew. He was killer. It scared Will that he felt nothing. 

"Do you think you can see why he tried to attack Dr. Lecter?" Beverly asked him with a shrug. It was obvious she really didn't know what to do from the slouch of her shoulders. 

Will's eyes glanced toward's hers for a split second before gliding back over the body of Tobias Budge. "He wanted something–revenge, I don't know. But, whatever it was Dr. Lecter was in the way, and that just wouldn't do." The last few words slipped into a cynical bitterness that he knew the killer had felt when saying those words, as well.

"Anything else?" Brian egged on. "Cause you know Jacks not gonna settle for that."

It was sad that Will knew Brian was right. He closed his eyes, breathed in, and let the pendulum swing. 

()

Opening my eyes, I'm walking through the woods. I have a destination, but I have the only choice of sneaking there by foot. There was an unseen variable, one I was not prepared for. I come up along the path. I see Lecter, and a rage fills me. I am better, I am stronger. I want to take him slowly, let him see who it is that has brought him to his knees–that weakened him. But, I can't, there's someone else here. Someone he's talking to, someone he likes. I will kill him also, but I will take my time with him. No one will know there was a second victim. I will slowly dissect him, make music from him like I would of done with Lecter.

I will make him sing.

()

"Will?" Will's eyes shot open, breathing hard, he took three steps back, continually blinking. He ran into a tray table loosing his balance he grabbed onto it while his legs slowly declined. 

He felt cold, lost, and broken. All that hatred, all those thoughts, all the images of his own self being mutilated, ripped apart had rattled his psyche. Will couldn't see anything but his own body torn to shreds by his own making. Slowly piece by piece ripped off in order to create the perfect sound. 

Will jumped at the touch of someone's hand on his shoulder, eyes frantically searching around him for something to ground him.

"Will?" The same voice that had broken him from the killers mind also cleared his vision. "Will, what happened? Are you okay?" Beverly was kneeling right beside him. The hand on his shoulder belonging to her. 

"I..." Will gulped, he couldn't form a thought let alone an actual sentence. 

"He's hot. I think he's having another episode." Brian's reached his ears, but it strangely sounded like he was under water. 

"Do you think that means...?" Jimmy price's question hung in the air, no one really needing the last few words to know what was being asked. Will only ever had episodes like this when he had to deal with the Rippers killings. 

Will was aware enough to shake his jerkily. He wasn't the Ripper, or part of the Rippers crew for that matter. Will had always suspected the Ripper was a group of organized killings, it hadn't been till recently that theory had been confirmed. A small paper trail had lead to the discovery of a string of plantations and communications from across Virginia all being somehow related the Rippers murders. 

"Then what's wrong, Will?" Beverly was gently petting his shoulder in slightly comforting way. 

Will's breathing was finally starting to calm down, but his heart rate was still too spiked to not warrant concern. "He–he saw me. He was going to–he wanted to." Will looked into Beverly's eyes, letting her see into his soul. "He wanted to make me sing." He said the last word with a harsh fierceness he didn't know he possessed. 

Beverly stared straight at him with a look of dawning horror. "Will..." He could feel the waves sympathy rolling off her only to land gently on him, covering him like a blanket. 

"I'm gonna get Jack." Jimmy said, his voice sounded distantly sick, and faltering, before he turned and walked out the door. 

Will felt movement from behind him. Glancing back he saw Brian awkwardly positioning himself on the floor next to him. His side to Wills back. Will took it as Brian's way of trying to comfort him. 

They stayed there, waiting for Jimmy to come back with Jack so Will could be cleared to go home and rest. Calm his running mind, but Will didn't know which was worse, going home and laying down, and more than likely having a nightmare about killing himself, or staying here staring at the body of the man that had wanted him dead, and reliving those thoughts over and over again. 

He really just wanted to forget.

 

\-----

 

It took Jack all of five seconds after seeing Will to clear him to go, but he had then stated that he would be the one to drive him home: seeing as his car was still broken down in the middle of the road. Will at the moment was too weak to protest and had just nodded his head, while Beverly and Brain had helped him stand. Him, and Jack were walking down the hallway (Jimmy following behind with Wills belongings) when Will heard his name being called out. 

"Will, is that you?" A slightly shakey voice called out. "You–you remember me, don't you?" 

"Franklynn." Was all Will could manage at the moment. Franklynn smiled, relieved, walking over towards them. 

"Are you okay, Will?" He seemed anxious has he twiddled his hands together. 

"No, our pour little GrahamCracker is sick, and we're trying to get him home." Jimmy spoke, pushing to the front of Jack, and Will. "So, please excuse us." 

Franklynn looked affronted for a moment, before that soon dissolved into weary. "Oh, okay." He nodded. "You know, Will, if you need anything you can just call." And for some reason Will felt like he was pleading for Will to say yes.

He offered him a weak smile, and nod, as they walked on, yet a question burned in Will's skull that he just didn't have the energy to ask.

Why was Franklynn here?

When they got in the car Jimmy bid then farewell, and giving Will an untouchy hug–the ones Will liked. Alone in the car with Jack Will closed his eyes, hoping to block out the world, but closing them only brought back the images of his own body being used as a human instrument. Will opened his eyes again, keeping them open. He couldn't risk another attack. 

A little while into the car ride Will was finally calming down, he almost felt back to normal, and his thought pattern wasn't as scrambled. The low rumble of the car engine was slowly compelling his mind back to the real world, and out of his nightmares.

"You feeling okay?" Jack asked, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, his deep voice overriding the hum of the engine. 

Will huffed bitterly, of course Jack already knew the answer, he just wanted a way into a conversation. "I just imagined killing myself, Jack, and I felt pleasure while doing it. How do you think I'm doing?" 

Jack let the silence ring out for a couple of seconds before responding. "I'm sorry you had to go that deep, Will. I'm worried about you–"

"You have an odd way of showing it." 

"–Hey! That's not fair, Will. We both have jobs, okay?" Jack sighed, frustrated. 

They had, had this conversation multiple times before. Albeit, in different settings, and different context's, but it was all the same–all fizzled down to the same structural bones. Jack had always treated Will like a tool to use, and be put away when not needed anymore; with hardly any consideration to Will's own wellbeing. When Will fought back, or tried to leave for his own sake Jack would guilt trio him back, and tell him it wasn't that he didn't care, it was that it was how he had to act. 

Acting came by, remarkably, for Jack nowadays. 

"Look, are you seeing anyone? For mental health reasons?" Jack rushed to fix his mistake. "Anyone that could help you while you're here?" Will could hear the nonexistent 'The way I can't' falling from his lips. 

"No, I'm kind of warned off of psychiatrist from my last few experiences." 

The chuckle that fell from Jacks throat was one of fond amusement. "I don't think Dr. Chilton was the best pick for you."

"You didn't realize that when found out he ran a, highly investigated asylum?"

"I didn't realize it was, highly investigated until after you had already had four sessions with him." 

"How'd you find out, anyways?" Will wondered.

"Dr. Bloom. She nearly threatened me with a knife when I told whose hands I had put you into." Will should've guessed. "On revision, I think it was Chilton she was worried about more. You were lucky we actually had a case against him, otherwise..."

He would be in jail for putting a fork in Chilton's knee. 

The car pulled into his driveway, and Will was greeted with the sound of very excited barking dogs. It was late for their feeding, they had probably sensed that something was wrong when Will hadn't come back to feed them, or sent someone else to. 

"I'll have a tow truck pick up your car. You'll be taking the weekend off to fix it won't you?" Jack shut the engine off, turning slightly in his seat in order to face Will better. 

The weekend would give Will enough time to clear his head, and hopefully fix his car before he his real job started. Not counting the ones he did for Jack; those were just side jobs he was cornered into taking, his real job was a teacher at the FBI Academy. Nothing too special, but it kept the monsters at bay. That is, when he wasn't helping Jack. 

Will nodded his head. "Thanks for the ride home, Jack." 

Jack smiled at him in a way that conveyed the simple message of 'its the least I can do', but in this situation that 'simple message' held more truth than it normally does in public conventions. "Keep safe, Will. Don't stress yourself."

"Stop sounding like my dad." Will allowed himself to quip back. The slight curl at both their lips was worth it. Their crumbling friendship was holding on by shreds, and they both knew it, these small moments weren't enough to save it, but at least he could say he tried. 

"That sounds like something Bella would say." Jack quipped back. 

They were both trying.

"So now I'm the wife?" 

Jack smiled reminiscently, as if this was already a memory he cherished, and longed to relive. "I'll see you Will." 

"Bye, Jack." Will said as he shut the door to the Jacks car. He waved as the man drove off before turning back to his house to pay attention to his neglected dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember I love your thoughts, so feel free to tell me them. Suggestions, as well. Love you all!
> 
>  
> 
> ~Class Dismissed*smiles*


	4. The Dancing Ballerina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a nightmare, and gets a visit from Beverly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! It's been YEARS! Not really, but close enough! Hannibals not really in this chapter (theres a text from him, but thats it), sorry. And I'm sorry for not writing in forever. You can all thank NicoleBloom89, and TheGoodDieYoung for this. I wouldn't have been motivated enough to write this if it hadn't been for those two comments. I hope you guys like this, and it lives up to all your expectations.

The melody plays out, exquisitely from Will's hands, almost professionally. With each swift, and sure movement the cello plays out a song all its own for the crowd watching. A whole auditorium full of listeners for this one song.

Will's eyes are closed as he continues. In his own mind, absent are the keen eyes, and relishing ears; all he can see, and feel at the moment are the notes being played.

Nothing else is important.

He can hear the melody, and see the notes he is playing, but he can not figure out how he is playing it. He stands there, melody flowing out from him, but he can only tell what notes he's played after he's played them. He gets the distinct feeling that he is the ballerina that spins in a music box. For show, but in no way connected to the actual song. He feels like he's cheating, somehow.

His hands move on their own accord, and it's disconcerting how at _ease_ Will feels. Each movement is relaxed, almost to the point of laziness. Will knows he should be more worried about why he's here, and playing an instrument (he's never been taught how to play), expertly. But the calmness running through his body is foreign to him, and, yet enticing (he's never felt this calm before).

Lulling him in, even while conscious.

He hums along with the music, unknowingly. It's a beautiful sound, and he's never heard anything like it. It's full of satisfaction, and disappointment with something sinister lurking beneath each note--turning it darker, and darker the longer it goes on. It's an odd mixture with the pace.

A slow savoring.

Whoever wrote this melody is remembering something they want to cherish forever. But the tinge of disappointment is loud, and obnoxious--tainting the song.

( _It isn't perfect._

_A sigh._

_But it is close enough_.)

Will continues; fingers playing; bow gliding across the strings. His movements are more elegant than they've ever been before. More concentrated and confident than he's ever been in his _life_ , and none of them are his own.

He's taking a ride on someone else's wave links. Once again he feels like he's cheating. It almost makes him stop playing, well, _want_ to stop playing, but his wants and his movements are not connected. He feels much like a puppet, with an unknown entity as his puppet master.

Curiosity is what brings him to try to guide the bow back, when his arm is already leading it forward. There's not even a spasm of resistance in the muscles of his arms or hands as it flows forward. Will isn't surprised by it. He realizes, he should be scared by all this, in the least, nervous, but neither the fear, nor the nerves reach him as he continues the song.

 _Lovely_ , a voice whispers, that feels like it comes from Will, himself.

As if it were the magic word, the bow stills in his hand, and the music ceases to continue. Will's eyes burst open, his breathing quickens, and he starts to let in the fear and nerves, that had been hidden away by the forced calmness from the song. Will looks around, and finds he _is_  in an auditorium (an empty one), standing on a stage with a cello in front of him.

After a quick sweep, Will finds no face to the voice that had broken the spell. That, alone, is enough to bring on the starting's of a headache Will has already begun to feel. He licks his lips, as his eyes search, again, this time, for an opening--an exit. A chill runs down his spine when his eyes run across none.

He is completely alone in a dark auditorium. Completely alone with his shuddering breathes and hallucinogenic voices. At least he thinks they're hallucinogenic (more along the lines of hope). The idea of someone actually being there (and being able to whisper _that_ , so close to him without his presence needed) scares him more than the thought of loosing his sanity.

Which is a testament to the fear the whisper put in him.

Gulping, Will tries to calm his nerves. He clenched, and unclenched his hands--

The beautiful woodworking of the neck of the cello, that Wills hands had, previously been holding, disintegrates into, soft, pliable meshes, beneath Will's fists. It tickles his fingers as it slides between them. Will yank's his hand down accidentally pulling the meshes with him, making whatever sat in replace of the cello's neck fall backward.

Will's eyes avert, down to where his hand had been, and comes face to face with his own self. His breathing stops. He stares head first into the dead eyes of himself; white and cold and long past dead.

Wills chest heaves, in much contrast to the one beneath him, that is as still as the auditorium around him. Will flings the bow, violently, across the stage, when his eyes flicker down to find the bow playing along his opened neck. He barely has time to register that the bow strings have blood rusted on them.

Will takes five large steps back word, nearly tripping on himself in his rush to get away. The sense of nauseating fear that fills him makes him feel like he should throw up, but he holds in whatever his gag reflexes have decided to start. His eyes never once leaving the body sat in the chair.

There is a darkness creeping in on the edges of Wills vision--making a more exceptional spotlight for the body, than the actual spotlight shining down on it. Wills eyes are stuck, and unmoving; staring straight ahead at his own body bleeding out.

He's only been dead for a few hours, Will can't stop his mind from reading the scene from the quick glances he got before he rushed away. He cut his throat open with three incisions; once to bleed him out; twice to open his trachea; a final time, to reach his vocal cords.

_Why his vocal cords?... To make a sound out of me, to help me sing--_

Will starts to panic. _Nononono, not this, again!_ He gasps in air, and he knows he's taking it in, but his lungs are _burning_ , and his eyes are watering. He runs his hands along his head, and presses down hard. Over his ears; his forehead; along his hair. His hands let go at the first whispers of touches of his hair. The flashes of his own death flowing back into his mind.

His hands are shaking, already as he brings them up in front of his face. Wills eyes zero in on the rusted blood covering his fingers.

It's _his_ blood.

*

The lights are still on when Will jumps awake, sitting up in bed, chest heaving, body dripping with sweat. His hands reach for his throat, expectant to find a gaping hole, and for his hands to come away stained with sticky blood. Will breathes a sigh of relief when his fingers touch solid flesh, and the only substance his fingers touch is wetness from his sweat. More importantly, when Wills hands come into his eye's view they are not covered in dried blood. His own dried blood.

Dizziness takes over his body (his head rushing from when he bolted up in his bed), he leans his head back, against the wall his bed is pushed up against. A soft breeze cools the sweat along his, now, exposed neck. Will allows the feeling of reality to check back into place, pushing out the fanta--the nightmare that had held his mind so thoroughly.

Usually, Will is aware during his nightmares. The slow convergence back into reality is a feeling he has long forgotten, and, one, he doesn't take lightly. The only other times this occurrence has happened to Will, was during that year he took to study The Chesapeake Rippers Mafia; the year that had, nearly, landed him in an insane asylum with Chilton as his caretaker. It was also the reason he had sworn off The Chesapeake Rippers Mafia cases (no matter how much Jack protested).

His hands run along his sheets; finding comfort in the familiar, cheap, fabric.

Finally grounded, he fists the sheets, rumpling them, before letting them go with an audible sigh and letting his eyes open up to the world around him. His reality. Will's breathing has finally calmed, and he doesn't feel on the verge of a panic attack, which is reassuring.

The clock on his wall ticks, calling Wills gaze to it first. It's 8:05am. It's not horribly late, nor is it horribly early.

The headache from Wills nightmare has forgone the rules of reality and fantasy crossing lines, and developed into a full-fledged headache (in his reality), that pounds with every turn of his eyes. He'll have to knock back more aspirin.

Will considers crawling back into the bed, and huddling under the covers to just forget, but then he hears the soft padding of the dogs' nails as they meander their way around the house in the mid-morning light. Busters the first one that makes it to him, sniffling at the side of his bed, and then whining lowly. Will smiles, he needs to get out of his sweat soaked clothes anyway, and wash his sheets, once again.

Winston tumbles his way over to the other side of his bed, and, almost identically to Buster, whines lowly.

"I'm getting up. You'll get your food, don't worry." Will chuckles when both their ears perk up at the word 'food'. It's a great distraction from his nightmare.

*

It's 9:10 by the time Will has fed, and watered all his dogs, let them out to go, put his sheets and pillow cases in to wash, eaten, let the dogs back in, washed their wet paws from the dewy morning grass, and taken a shower, changed clothes, and brushed his teeth. He has the whole day ahead of him to do nothing much, but sit around, and call a mechanic for his car, that had been, graciously, towed, by Jack, to his house. And try to forget about the nightmare.

He might actually get his house spotless for the first time today.

He's in the process of putting his sheets in the dryer, when his dogs start to compile around the front door, tails wagging, and expectations high. Will furrows his brow, he didn't think anyone was coming over today, besides the mechanic, but Will hasn't even called a shop yet.

The knock, was expected; he did have any early warning system (the dogs), but not any less confusing. Making his way back into the living room/his bedroom, Will has to 'tiss' at a few of his rather stubborn dogs, that refuse to back away from the door when Will first approaches it. They soon follow the, wordless command, and slump back to a respectful distance with the others.

The door opens with a soft 'squeak', and staring at him through the screen door is none other than, Beverly Katz. Who looks suspiciously innocent standing on his front porch.

Will opens his mouth to ask something along the lines of 'Why are you hear?' in, hopefully, a way that wouldn't come across as rude, but for the life of him, he can not remember one time Beverly Katz had made a house call to him, but Beverly beats him to the punch.

"Answer your phone more, Graham, and I wouldn't have to come over."

Will had forgotten about his solitude from the world for the past couple days.

"Oh," Is exhaled from his mouth, brows still furrowed, but his head nods along, jerkily, anyway.

"Okay, I know your bad at this whole socialization thing, Will, but leaving a girl out in the cold? Is not something you do." Beverly smirks after a minute of confused silence on Wills part. He still doesn't understand, fully, why she's here.

Or for that matter, how she got his home address.

Wills eyes pass over hers, his only attempt he can make, at the moment. "Sorry." He mutters as he unhooks the latch on the screen door, and pushes it open for her. She gladly takes the offer.

"Woah," She startles in amusement, when she sees the wall of dogs surrounding them. Turning back to Will she says, "I knew you had a lot of dogs, Will, but this is a whole pound."

"Saved them from going to the pound." Will mutters, as she gets to her knees on the dog hair infested floor, to meet all the animals.

They sniff at her, warily, before rushing forward in a herd to overtake her.

  
Once Beverly, has been formerly introduced to all the dogs, they make their way into the kitchen. Will offers to make coffee, but Beverly declines.

"No can do, Graham. Doc, said no more."

Will pauses. "And by 'Doc' do you mean Jack?" He asks, knowingly.

Beverly raises an eyebrow. "He do it to you, too?"

Will nods. "During the Mafias high points. He said it made my mind more confused than focused." A pause, and a hint of a bitter smile. "But he wanted me stay up all night, anyways."

Beverly snorts. "Like that's possible. How'd you survive?"

Will smirks. "Why do you think I do favors for Zeller and Price so much? I owe them."

The smile on Beverly's face turns mischievous. "You sly sluther. Did Jack ever catch you guys?" She leans forward in her seat, arms crossed on the island, across from him.

"No, he just thought Price was transitioning his alcohol problem to coffee. At least, that's what Zeller, and I told him."

Beverly cracks up, and Will can't help the smile splitting his face. "Hey, why's he playing 'Doc' with you, anyways?"

She shrugs, tiredly. "Apparently, it makes my aim shaky, and unlike you I'm not going to lie about it. Poor Jack's gonna have his head spinning with Prices problems."

Will concedes with a tilt of his head. "I still don't understand why your here." He says, out of nowhere, when they haven't talked after a minute.

Beverly gives him a stare, that's both bemused, and slightly offended. "Will," She says, sternly. "You had an episode. I'm here, as a friend, offering my company."

"Who says I want your company." Will teases.

"My self-conscious."

"Sure it wasn't the devil on your shoulder? I have a feeling the devil would like to play with me."

"Nah, you're too used. Kind of like an old rag doll."

"An old rag doll?" He snorts. "Too used for the devil himself?"

"This is a new low point in your life, Graham."

 _And I have a feeling it's going to get worse_ , Will thinks, somberly. Dark flashes of the nightmare run wild behind his eyes. He can feel himself being pulled back into the darkness, and has to grab ahold of the edge of the island in order to keep himself attached to reality.

Beverly's face has turned serious, as she asks, "Will? You okay?"

"M'fine." Will tries to brush it off. Praying she'll leave it.

Beverly, pointedly, stares at his hands on the island, that have taken up the shaking again.

"Maybe I am getting a caffeine addiction." He jokes, distractedly, no real humor in it. He clears his throat. "I'm gonna make more coffee."

He needs something for his hands to do. Staring at them makes him remember when they were stained with his blood.

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" Will asks, wanting to change the topic, before Beverly can persuade him into spilling it all out.

Beverly's face is scrunched up. She looks like she wants to berate him for changing topics, make him fess up to what is so, obviously, wrong with him, and, at the same time, keep to her boundaries in their friendship.

Will makes up her mind for her. "Bev, _please_." He sounds pitiful, he knows, but it does the trick, and Beverly falls straight into the new conversation without hesitation. Will thinks the nickname probably helped, as well.

"Yeah. I came to send a message along, as well. From that guy Price said you knew. Frank, or something?"

"Franklynn." Will still didn't understand why he was at the BSU in the first place.

Beverly nods. "Yeah, he says he wishes you get well, and to..." She pauses, for what Will can only imagine, is dramatic flare. "Text him some time."

 _Oh, yeah_. Will had forgotten he had the guys phone number. _Along with Dr. Lecter's._

Will hums. "I guess if you ever see him again you can tell him thank you." _Or I could just text him 'thank you'._

Beverly looks only partially disappointed that that led to nothing. "Oh I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of him. He was Budges only friend."

Will blinks, his mind slowing to try to process that information. He was Budges friend. The man that had planned to kill him, was the friend of the man he couldn't help but pity.

And then, suddenly, a connection is made in Wills mind. "Franklynn is friends with Dr. Lecter. Or... More like he strives to be friends with Dr. Lecter, though Dr. Lecter, I don't think shares the same sentiment."

Beverly's eyes brighten. "So, Franklynn could be the key to all this? Because he's infatuated with Dr. Lecter? And his friend was upset by it? What kind of sick friendship is this?"

Will shrugs. "I don't think it's Franklynn that's messed up. Budge was probably more possessive than he showed, and when given competition, he fought back."

"Sure they weren't lovers?"

That stops Will. "I'm not sure. I never saw them interact, though Franklynn definitely didn't have those intentions with Dr. Lecter. He just wanted to be his friend." _Probably still wants to._

Something clicks in Beverly's brain.

"You've met Dr. Lecter."

"I think, that's obvious." Will says, slowly.

"You've met him before the broken down car, attempted murder, thing." She says, her voice rising in volume, her speech filled with accusation. Will can picture her pointing a finger at him.

"... I did."

Beverly's hands slam the island startling Will, making him flinch. "When?"

"Why?" Will asks, bemused.

"When." She repeats.

"Beverly--?" Will wants to protest.

"Will. Answer."

Will sighs, giving up. "Last week. It's where I met Franklynn, too. He's the one that actually introduced me to him."

"And then, you guys decided to meet in the middle of the road?"

"No. Dr. Lecter had work business there, and happened to pass my car. Decided to get out and help."

"Mmhmm," Beverly hums. "And you sure you didn't plan your car breaking down to see him again?"

"God, no. I barely know the man. We met an art opening, and I insulted his art. I don't even know why he gave me his phone nu--" Shit.

A pause.

"His what?"

"Nothing, Beverly. He gave me his nothing--"

"Well, he obviously gave you his something--"

"Focus, Bev, focus."

"I am."

"Not on me. On Franklynn."

"Why? Is he your competition? Just promise me you won't go killing him--"

"Beverly." Will is exasperated. "The connection."

"The one you two made? Was it love--"

Will groans, and rubs his face with his hands. If his fingers stray from his hair there's no one to connect it to his nightmare. He's perfectly fine. "On the case." He says.

"Alright, alright." Beverly lets up, though her eyes still sparkle mischievously. "You did say that Budge was jealous, didn't you? So, Budge was jealous of Lecter, because of Franklynn's infatuation."

"Presumably. You'll have to talk to Franklynn. And take it up to Jack."

Beverly nods. "Yeah, I'll get to it. Do you need anything from the outside world, while I'm at it?"

Will smiles, as he leads her to the door. "A good mechanic." He says, as he stares, forlornly, at his broken down car in the drive way.

"I'll see what I can do." She smiles. "Catcha' later, Graham Cracker."

Will curses her in his head for using the awful nickname, but waves her off. He hides his reservations toward the motive. He knows it's the only answer he can give her, though.

*

It's later on that evening, after the house has been cleaned to the point of almost perfection, his car has been (once again) towed away, to a shop to get repaired, and all his students' essays have been corrected, and looked over more than three times (he stopped after he realized with each sweep he was getting more harsh, and downgrading all of them), when he finally turns his phone back on, with the false hope he might actually get enough courage to thank Franklynn.

There's a ton of messages from Beverly, and the guys at the lab telling him to answer his phone, because, apparently, Beverly was hard to deal with angry. None from Jack. He's silently relieved at that, considering their last messages. He isn't surprised by any of this. Most surprising, is the message from Dr. Lecter.

  
I never got to formally thank you for saving my life. I hope this message will suffice, for now.

  
Will doesn't even want to think about the implications of the last sentence 'for now', and focuses on how the hell Dr. Lecter got his phone number in the first place. Will had never given it to him. He ponders on texting him back with that exact question, but decides to ignore it. The text had been sent the day it happened, so three days ago. Dr. Lecter probably, already thought Will had ignored it, no need to change anything.

Though, Will, still wonders how he got his phone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, come again soon. Love you all! Remember, comments are a good thing, she says in a sweet voice.
> 
> P.s. Phone messed up, and wouldn't let me bolden the text message.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! Please comment and tell me if you like it or not. Please and thank you! Also, kudos are loved just as much!
> 
> P.s. If you guys have any ideas for this fic go ahead and comment them, I'm always up for suggestions. I can't promise I'll use them but, if I do, I'll make sure to credit you. 
> 
> ~Class dismissed. *smiles*


End file.
